


Mad Sounds

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, NYC, New York City, Photographer!Dean, discontinued, newspaper, writer!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3883606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an aspiring photographer in a new, unusual city, Dean Winchester is doubtful about his decision to move from Kansas and take a job at a NYC newspaper company. But, all hesitations fade away as he makes a series of new friends, including the paper's enigmatic (yet, amiable) writer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taxi Cabs

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Supernatural (and therefore Destiel) fan fiction. You may also see this posted on Wattpad under the same title and a slightly different description [and the username hesitatingalien], and that's mostly because I like to do a lot of my editing/reviewing there. But, it's virtually the same thing, so you can check it out there if you want.
> 
> But, I hope you like this! I've put an inane amount of thought and effort into it, so I'd accept any feedback regarding plot holes, errors, mistakes, etcetera, etcetera.
> 
> xx

 

 

 

Dean Winchester almost immediately regrets his rash and quick decision to take a photography job for a big-shot newspaper stationed in the center of New York City.

He's _not_ a cityperson. In fact, he's got to be the exact opposite. He grew up in Lawrence, Kansas, the most simple, kind, small, and close-knitted city he could think of. But, Manhattan? Manhattan is loud, rude, and full of strangers. And Dean absolutely hates it. 

The realization hits him full-force on a Monday morning, only two days after he moved from his home-town of twenty one years, and exits his newly-purchased (and horrendously expensive) apartment in the Upper West Side, his camera strapped around his neck, and a case filled with important documents around his right shoulder. The first thing Dean notices is that it's _freezing._ Yeah, it's right after Christmas break and the beginning of January, but that sure as hell doesn't excuse nine-degree weather. His black down jacket is barely enough to keep him from getting frost bite.

The second thing he notices is the sheer amount of people on the sidewalks and in the streets. They all walk at an abnormally fast pace and seem to be multitasking like a bitch: one man pushes a stroller with one hand while he talks on the phone with the other, a woman flips through a manila folder and speaks to the person right beside her as the two cross the street. Dean is more than grateful for the stairs that he's on the top of that separates him from the rest of the city for the time being. _'How are they not all dead?_ ' Dean thinks to himself as he slowly makes his way down the bricked steps. It's a valid question: it's a wonder that everyone in this city doesn't get into car accidents or bump into things as they walk around.

_'So. Taxi.'_ Admittedly, all of Dean's skills for hailing a cab (which is, surprise, a grand total of _none_ ) comes from shitty sitcoms and police shows Sammy likes to watch all of the time. He's never actually ridden in a taxi before. Ever since he could remember, his Dad's (but now his) 1967 Chevrolet Impala has always been the way to go. But, since Dean didn't have the time or money to drive from Kansas to New York, he had to leave his baby behind with his Uncle Bobby and mother, praying to God that they don't fuck her up.

Anyway, the point is that though Dean has never hailed a taxi, he assumes it looks easy enough. "What, it's just waving my hand in the street as I see a yellow car come down the road," he says aloud, not even able to hear himself over the bustle of everyone else. "What's the big deal?"

First taxi he gets the attention of is stolen by some jackass in a prim blue suit. Dean can actually see his own heavy breathing condensed in the air as the man closes the door behind himself and grins at him through the window. In retaliation and just out of pure habit, Dean flips him off and glares down the cab until it's out of sight, camouflaged by all of the other cars on the road.

The second cab he sees is not in service.

The third is already occupied.

It's been ten minutes and Dean is already cursing at himself. He doesn't know the transit system well enough to just hop on the subway or bus and hope for the best, he's got no friends to drive him, and it's his first day and he can already tell he's going to be late.

Might as well keep hailing taxis.

The fourth is stolen by a pregnant woman, so Dean doesn't have the heart to call her out on it.

The ninth is _green_ , and a Boro taxi, which basically prohibits it from taking potential yellow cab passengers.

The twelfth is occupied.

Dean can tell it's occupied by the lack of a light on the top of the cab (yes, he's learned more about cabs in the last thirty minutes than the past twenty or so years). When he realizes it's a waste of time trying to get the cabbie's attention, his hand drops and he steps back up onto the curb. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, trying not to think about the insane cold or the fact that he's going to lose this goddamned job before he actually _gets_ it.

So, it's to his utter surprise that the same taxi that he had given up on moments before rolls up right beside him and the back door opens. Dean's eyebrows furrow as he sees a man- a very _attractive_ man, if the distinction is necessary- lean across in his seat on the other side of the car and gives Dean a kind smile. It's different, especially since it's the first nice smile he's received in this godforsaken city.

"Get in, we'll share," the man says and though Dean doesn't really know what that means, he enters the taxi anyway. He closes the door behind him and looks at the man who'd been benevolent toward him.

Dean feels no need to retract his earlier sentiment: he _is_ attractive. Though, attractive seems to be a very big understatement. Oddly, he looks simultaneously disheveled and well-kept, his black hair being wild atop his head, but it's not a _bad_ sort of wild _:_ more like a much better version of bedhead or sex hair. The thoughts make Dean wonder if it's either, or both, but he quickly shakes the questions from his mind.

Now, his _eyes._ Dean's been told plenty of times that he has nice eyes, particularly in late-high school and early-college, when guys and girls seemed to fetishize eye color. He's never really understood it, and never questioned it (he tended to just take what he could get, no questions asked), but _Jesus Christ,_ it's as if an epiphany came to him five years too late. The man's eyes were gorgeously and deeply blue, accented by soft crinkles that line them when he smiles at Dean and pink lips whose corners turn just slightly upward.

"You looked nearly frozen to death out there," the man says, motioning for the driver to keep going before turning back to Dean. "And like you were ready to give up on life."

Two beats pass before Dean finally says something. "Yeah, well, I couldn't get a cab to save my life." He chuckles softly and the man quirks an eyebrow.

"So...I'm guessing you're not from around here?"

Dean gives a sheepish smile, scratching at the stubble that refused to leave even after he shaved this face before leaving the house. "How'd you know?"

"The typical New Yorker tries to hail down a cab for five minutes at the most before calling in a taxi service."

Dean gapes, his eyes growing wide at the revelation. "You could _do_ that?"

The man seems very bemused, but also _a_ mused at the same time. "Yeah. There are tons floating around the city, not just the yellow taxis we're famous for." He puts out a hand. "I'm Castiel Novak."

"Dean Winchester," Dean replies, promptly shaking his hand before letting his arm drop to his side. He is then aware of Castiel holding something else out to him- a coffee cup.

"Untouched, and made from the best cafe in the Upper West Side," he says with a grin and Dean takes the paper mug reluctantly. Castiel notices this. "Don't worry. I'm not a serial killer or anything. It was for my boss- I didn't buy him anything for Christmas and I'm hoping that kissing his ass will stop him from kicking mine."

Dean snorts. "Then what will you do now that you've given me your ticket to an ass-kicking-free Monday?"

Castiel shrugs. "I'll make something up. Oh, and where are you going? I'd be cool with splitting the fare."

Dean takes a moment to raise his hips from the taxi seat and slide a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket. He opens it and reads the newspaper headquarter's name. "Social Public News. 611 West 112th Street."

He looks up to see Castiel's eyebrows raised, as if surprised by what he had just said. "So you must be SPN's new camera guy." He looks pointedly at the cased camera hung around Dean's neck. "What a coincidence."

"What, do you also work for...SPN?" He never thought to shorten the name. ' _SPN'_ sounds fifty times cooler than ' _Social Public News.'_

"Yeah." Castiel leans back against the opposite car door to get a better look at Dean. "I write articles. A lot of them are about political issues, social awareness, rights, etcetera, etcetera. My boss- well, _our_ boss, said he planned on hiring a new photographer. A pity it's you, though."

Dean creases his brow at that and watches Castiel touch the mouth of his paper mug- tea, judging by the Lipton tag at the side- to his lips. "What do you mean?"

He smiles and takes a sip from his drink, letting his eyes lock onto Dean's, which produces a strange warm shock that courses down his spine. Castiel's eyes seem to darken a bit as he shrugs and says, "Well, I think you're pretty hot and planned on giving you my number."

Dean's breath hitches in his throat at the other man's words and tries his best not to show his reaction to Castiel's admission of his attraction to him. Instead, he replies with, "Planned?"

Castiel chuckles and runs a single hand through his hair to move loose strands of hair from his forward. "Yes, _planned._ We're coworkers now. It's..." He pauses for dramatic effect and Dean swears he sees Castiel's eyes drift down to his lips. " _Forbidden."_

Oh yes. Dean is most definitely regretting taking this goddamned SPN job.


	2. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To show me around and give me a sense of my new home,” he replies. “The NYC-experience, as Lisa had put it.”
> 
> Cas gives him an amused look and cocks his head to the side to get a better read of the situation. It’s an odd request, sure, and once again they don’t really know each other. But, that’s the thing- Dean wants to know him. Even throughout the entire week, when he’d had no sight of Cas and had begun to make friends with Ruby and Becky, at one point or the other he’d thought to himself, I wonder what Castiel is doing right now, or What if Cas just walks through that door. It’s more than a little ridiculous, but Dean doesn’t care. If he’s being honest with himself, which is something he does very rarely, he might sort of like him. If Sam was here, he’d definitely laugh in his face at the pure chick-flick moments he’s been experiencing for the last five days and tell him to grow a pair.

 

 

It's not very long to the building SPN is in, so once the two of them split the fare 75/25 (Castiel offered to pay three-quarters of it since he rode in the cab for the most amount of time), they make their way to the tall, looming skyscraper that, according to Castiel is at least two-fifths the newspaper's.

Dean follows closely behind Castiel, subconsciously noting his well-fitted beige trench coat (that is fashioned more like a pea coat to be honest), and tightens his grip on the strap of his briefcase. The other man's words in the taxi still vibrate in his thoughts, Dean not really able to wrap his head around Castiel's bluntness at his feelings. Dean has 'courted,' so to speak, plenty of people in the past five or six years, but he's _never_ just outright said _'I think you're hot and you should have my number.'_

After Castiel had said ' _Forbidden_ ' in a voice that should probably be illegal in broad daylight, he'd gone on to explain himself a bit: there is a strict no-office-relationships policy. Though everyone knows the boss is banging one _very_ specific writer, no one really has the audacity to call him out on his hypocritical bullshit.

From what Dean could tell, Castiel is the exact opposite of him: he finds an odd comfort in being around others, as it sort of makes him feel as if he has a purpose.

Or at least that's what Dean could collect in the ten minutes he's known him.

"It's probably best to keep up," he hears Castiel shout, and he realizes that, as he was deep in his thoughts, he'd allowed the other man to reach nearly out of sight. Dean quickens his pace, weaving his way around the crowd of people and catches up to Castiel as he pushes through the revolving door of SPN's headquarters.

It's much warmer inside, and Dean only notices that his teeth were chattering when they stop. The lobby is _extremely_ large, with high ceilings and glass at the tops of the walls so as to naturally light the room with the morning sun. It's not too crowded, which means Dean can finally breathe, not feeling as claustrophobic as he most certainly did before. There are elevators to the far left and a circular desk in the center of the lobby, with several people (whom Dean assumes are secretaries) sitting behind it.

" _Cas_!" Someone shouts, and both Dean and Castiel turn their head to see a pretty ginger running up to them. She looks about their age, with shortly-cropped red hair, wide olive-colored eyes, and an excited grin. She seems overly enthusiastic for what is virtually just a Monday morning, but Castiel (or _Cas?_ ) isn't surprised by her stamina.

"Hey, Charlie," Cas replies with a warm smile, averting his eyes to meet hers as she catches up. They embrace in a friendly hug before she lets go and hits him in the arm. _Hard._

"You _asshole_!" She shouts, her mood doing a complete 180 as she hits him again. Cas mouths _Ow,_ and rubs his arm animatedly. "You didn't come to my New Years' party!"

Castiel creases his brow. "I _told_ you, I left Manhattan for Long Island on the twenty-ninth to visit my family. Trust me, I'd rather not have spent my vacation days in the Hamptons, but my parents were getting irritable."

Charlie huffs indignantly, knowing she doesn't have a valid argument for that, and just looks toward Dean. She glances back at Castiel, giving him a questioning look as if asking _Who...?,_ but Cas simply lifts an eyebrow. Charlie turns back to Dean.

"I don't think we've met," she says politely, putting out her hand. Dean notices that it's marked with something that looks like paint. "I'm Charlie Bradbury, Castiel's best friend."

Cas snorts, and Charlie just shoots him a glare before resuming her smile toward Dean.

"Hi," he replies, taking her hand and shaking it. "Dean Winchester, and I've only known Castiel for about twenty minutes."

But, Charlie doesn't look like she _cares_ about how long the two have known each other. She gets an enigmatic look on her face as she cocks her head to the side, and gives Dean a strange stare. "Winchester? Have we _met_...?"

Before Dean can even answer, Castiel cuts in. "He's SPN's new photographer."

Charlie's face lights up with instant recognition although she had been wrong, they'd never met. "Kansas, right? Chuck couldn't shut up about it before Christmas vacation. He kept going _on_ and _on_ about this 'new guy' from the Midwest who knows _nothing_ about the city. Said it'd bring a fresh perspective to the paper."

Dean's not exactly sure of how he feels that Chuck (Cas had previously told him that their boss' name is Chuck Shurley, though he formally goes by Carver Edlund) seemed to have this _sort of_ insulting, but also sort of _not_ predisposed notion of him. But, he barely has time to ponder over it as both Cas and Charlie begin to move to the elevators. Dean rushes to keep up, irrationally feeling more than a little left out of the conversation the two are having despite the obvious fact that _he just met them._

Cas reaches over and presses the elevator button and teeters on his heels as they wait for the doors to slide open. In that time, Charlie turns to face Dean again and gives him another friendly smile. "I know, New York is a long stretch from Kansas and can be a little intimidating. But, as long as you keep your shit close to you and don't be a pushover, you should be fine."

The advice seems a little too general, and pretty hard to follow as guidelines for Dean's time in NYC, so he just presses his lips together and nods curtly.

The elevator doors open and they allow some people to get off before they get on. Castiel presses the button above a silver **6** and they stand in silence as the car slowly makes it way up the shaft.

And God, once the doors open again...if Dean had thought the city was an unnecessary mix of noise, rush, and business, it'd be no comparison to the sixth floor landing.

It is absolutely _chaotic._ And yes, there's a good chance Dean just thinks that because he'd never been or worked at a place where so many people are able to concentrate and do their job (especially on a Monday morning) with as much movement and sound as is displayed here.

He makes sure to keep close to Castiel and Charlie, who somehow maintain a conversation despite the fact that it's next to impossible for Dean to even hear himself _think_. It's all just _too much,_ and Dean sips his cooling coffee nervously. He doesn't notice Cas slow his pace to fall into step beside him until he hears him say beside his ear:

"We'll go to Chuck's office, and we'll see what to do from there."

Dean nods once, and hears Cas chuckle.

"You look absolutely _sick._ "

"I need time to adjust." Dean has to raise his voice for Castiel to hear him, since he doesn't yield the benefit of having his lips close enough to the other man's ear. "I'll be fine."

"I'm sure."

They round the corner and Dean sees that Charlie doesn't round it with them. Instead, she heads straight forward to a cubicle seated beside a large, glass wall overlooking the city. So, as Castiel and Dean venture deeper into the sixth floor, the amount of hustle begins to disperse and Dean breathes regularly again.

"What should I call him?" Dean asks suddenly and Cas looks over to him in confusion. "Uh, _Chuck,_ I mean."

Castiel shrugs nonchalantly. "Just Chuck would be fine. He's not one of those guys whom titles mean a lot to. He only accepts Carver from the professionals- interviewers, reporters, the lot. He'd answer to Mr. Shurley, but he'd stare at you as if he's trying to get it through your head that he's too young-" and Cas puts air quotations around _young._ "To be called ' _Mr_.' So, best bet is Chuck."

"Chuck? That's it?"

"Yup."

"And I won't lose my job before I even start for lack of respect?"

Castiel snorts at that and shakes his head. "No, you won't. It'll be fine, don't sweat it. He's shown us your portfolio and we all like your pictures. Chuck's not an idiot, he wouldn't let you go that easily."

"You've seen my work?" Dean asks, biting the inside of his cheek. But, as he realizes he's doing it, he immediately stops. Back in Lawrence, he'd never have a nervous habit, because he was _never nervous._ New York makes him feel small, and he doesn't like it one bit.

Cas frowns down at him, his eyes quickly observing his expression to find out why he was asking. "Yeah, just to know the sort of person we're going to work with. You can find out a lot about someone, solely from their art."

Dean nods because it's true - of _course_ it's true, because he puts his heart and soul into his work - and they finally get to a door marked:

**_Carver Edlund: Editor-In-Chief_ **

Dean notices that Cas doesn't move to open the door or anything, but just gestures toward it with a wide arm. "This is where I leave you," he says, taking a sip from his paper mug. "Unfortunately, I've got work to get done."

"Thanks, for the cab and sort of presenting the office to me," Dean replies and puts out his hand. Castiel takes it and shakes it once, smiling warmly as he pulls away.

"No problem. Not all of us are dicks." And Cas nods his leave and, as he walks away, Dean can't help but think, _Apparently not._

* * *

 

"Everything here is pretty straightforward. Just don't fuck up and do your job."

Chuck Shurley does _not_ look or act like how Dean had originally assumed he would. No, instead of the stereotypical metrosexual dress and intensity, Chuck is just...regular. And, not even 'regular' as one would assume a New Yorker to be, but if Chuck happened along Kansas, _no one_ would really realize that he doesn't belong. He's scraggly, with untidy brown hair and facial hair he probably hasn't shaven in _months._ His clothes are pretty normal, too, with an old brown leather jacket just like one that Dean enjoys wearing whenever he's not under a dress code, with old, ratty blue jeans.

He's sitting behind a large desk gripping a ceramic mug, taking small sips between instructions. Dean just nods along, not saying or asking much.

Ten minutes later, he's handed a beige manila folder and assigned to a cubicle where he'd complete the basic tasks in the folder. Apparently, his assignments will continue to be simple until he gets settled into the paper and used to life around the office. Then, he'd do more in terms of big articles and spreads.

"So you're the new guy." Dean looks up from his new desk - a _very_ cramped and _very_ uncomfortable desk at that - too see probably the most intimidating-looking girl he's ever laid eyes on. She's not ugly, in fact she's quite the opposite, but she looks like she chews up guys and spits them back out just for fun

She seems overly comfortable in her own space, her black skinny jean-clad legs resting atop her cubicle desk. She's leaning back in her office chair and wearing a matching black leather jacket and a red v-neck underneath. Dean can't help but wonder how she doesn't freeze in such little clothing.

"Yeah," Dean replies slowly, more than a little reluctant to start a conversation with the girl. "Dean Winchester."

She nods once and stares at him for a couple moments more before finally replying with, "Ruby Cortese. So tell me, Dean: what in the hell persuaded you to come to New York?"

He shrugs. "Employment opportunity," he admits, and opens the folder Chuck had given him. He begins to flip through it and figure out what the hell he's supposed to be doing. "It's better here, than Kansas."

Ruby snorts at that. "Do you really think that? It's a bitch to find a job in the City, _everyone_ knows that."

"Yeah, but..." Dean doesn't really know how to put it in words. It's like, _yeah,_ a lot of his move had to do with the fact that he had gotten a really good deal in terms of a job, but he also needed a fresh start. Well, _needs._ Sam had just gone off to college and Bobby's stable at the garage. Finally, Dean is at this place in his life where he can do whatever he wants, and that includes pursue this whole 'dream' he has for himself: photography. He went to college for four years to study visual journalism and photography, and SPN gives him an opportunity to build on that. "I don't know. I heard about Cronuts and decided that this is a city worth living in."

Ruby laughs out loud and, to Dean's instantaneous relief, she turns back to whatever she had been doing before: flipping through an issue of _Alternative Press._ He wonders what her contribution to the paper is exactly, but doesn't dwell too much on it because he has more important matters at hand. Like, sorting out tomorrow's environmental news articles.

* * *

 

Dean flies through the rest of the week in a flurry of busy work, taxi cabs, and five hours of sleep at night. Rest is just about nonexistent and he basically recharges from the complimentary stale coffee in SPN's lobby. He learns to use the subway, too, and it provides a good alternative if he doesn't want to bother with drivers that day.

He hasn't seen neither Castiel nor Charlie since their encounter on Monday, and instead makes the acquaintance of Ruby Cortese and, his other cubicle-neighbor, Becky Rosen. Ruby has an obvious distaste for Becky, which makes sense because of how blatantly different the two are. Becky, a short, excitable blonde, has an interest in all things while Ruby doesn't really care about anything. Dean learns that Ruby is an editor (a good one at that, which surprises Dean because, as previously stated, she has very little care for anything), with a hierarchal position right underneath Chuck, who is editor-in-chief. She gets paid _insanely_ well, but still works at a cubicle at personal request.

"I like to terrorize the newbies," she had admitted earlier in the week, chewing on her gum a bit obnoxiously as she went through the seminal issue of _Kerrang._ "Much more entertaining than being isolated in a room by myself as I do...well, _nothing._ "

Dean had just nodded, praying to every god there is that she doesn't have a particular interest in terrorizing  _him._

Nonetheless, Dean finds himself meeting up with both Ruby and Becky before going into work. That Friday morning, Becky has two cups of Dunkin' Donuts coffee, and holds one out to Dean as he approaches the two of them on the steps that lead up to the building.

"I noticed that, for some reason, you drink the shit coffee by the secretary's desk," she explains as Dean takes the hot cup in his gloved hands and lifts it to his lips to take a tentative sip. "I wanted to do you a favor."

"Thank you." Dean smiles warmly and glances down at Ruby, who's sitting on a concrete step in _just her leather jacket_ (mind you, it's 18-degrees fahrenheit and that's excluding the windchill) with her headphones plugged into her ears. Instead of Dunkin' Donuts, she has a Starbucks mug and a small paper bag with what looks like a breakfast sandwich poking out. She looks up as she feels Dean's gaze on her.

"Why in the hell are you so late?" Ruby asks with a cocked eyebrow and she stands. But, Dean knows she's not _really_ upset, because of the small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I feel like we've been waiting for your ass for hours."

"I'm twenty minutes _early,_ " he tells her as the three of them start toward the building. "And, it's a great ass to wait for."

Becky snorts and Ruby tries to hold in a laugh. "You're a freaking idiot," she says, all the while grinning amusedly. Dean just shrugs and nudges her with his shoulder.

As they push through the revolving doors, they're engulfed by welcoming heat and Dean slides his gloves off, pushing them into his jacket pockets. Seeing as it's a Friday morning, the building lobby is a bit busier than usual, but still, Dean can recognize the tousled black hair and beige trench coat that belongs to the figure leaning against the secretary desk, his back to him. Even though there's _no way_ he had been staring for any prolonged amount of time, Becky quickly catches him looking and decides to say something.

"Do you know Castiel?"

Dean furrows his brow, because _no. He doesn't_ really _know Castiel._ Sure, he calls him Cas and thinks about him more than he'd care to admit, but he's really only spoken to him once. "No, not really."

"We should go say hi," Becky continues, averting their path from the elevators to the secretary's desk. Ruby groans inwardly, not understanding why they're taking time out of their day to speak with _Castiel Novak,_ but follows anyway. Just as they approach, Cas turns around and immediately sees them. Well, he only sees Dean at first, and his expressions lights up when he recognizes him.

"Hello, Dean," he says brightly and Dean nods his response.

"Hey."

That's when Castiel notices that he has company. He runs his tongue over his teeth as he sees his other two companions, and raises a tentative brow. "And hello Becky. _Ruby._ "

Dean notices the strained way he pronounces Ruby's name, but doesn't comment on it. And even if he wanted to, he couldn't because at that moment someone decided to say:

"Cas, introduce me to your friends."

Everyone's attention turns to the girl behind the desk to whom Castiel must have been previously engaged in conversation with. She's pretty, with shoulder-length black hair, bangs, and blue eyes that parallel Cas'. The resemblance is obvious, and Dean can tell her relation before Castiel says it.

"Guys, this is my sister, Hannah," he says, gesturing toward her, and Hannah smiles widely at the introduction. "She just started working here."

"At least we know _someone_ in your family is decent to look at," Ruby says, the comment clearly aimed to Castiel, but she throws a flirtatious grin in Hannah's direction. Cas just rolls his eyes, probably already used to the girl's snideness, and picks up a box of what Dean presumes to be donuts from _Doughnut Plant_.

"Don't start, Ruby."

"What?" She begins innocently. "I'm being nice."

But, Castiel doesn't fall for it. "How the hell did you get a job _editing_ if you don't even know the proper definition of _nice?_ "

Ruby opens her mouth to respond, and it's obvious that the two don't plan on stopping their bickering anytime soon. So, Becky clears her throat and puts her hand on Ruby's shoulder. The girl noticeably stiffens at the touch, but still allows herself to be steered away from the conversation, leaving Hannah, Castiel, and Dean alone. As soon as Ruby and Becky are out of sight, Castiel cocks his eyebrow and leans back against the marble counter separating the secretaries from the rest of the lobby.

"You've made friends with _Becky Rosen_ and _Ruby Cortese_?"

For some stupid and inexplicable reason, Dean suddenly feels the need to defend the two of them. So, he crosses his arms over his chest and mirrors Cas' air of superiority. "They're cool to hang around."

The words _feel_ stupid leaving his mouth, but he doesn't let his regret show on his face. Instead, he waits for Castiel to respond.

But, he doesn't. Or, at least not how Dean expected him to. He just chuckles softly, the corner of his mouth rising as he averts his gaze to the floor and shakes his head. When he glances back up to meet Dean's questioning eyes, he replies with, "Good. It's good that you're making friends, actually. Whatever makes you feel more at home." He opens the doughnut box and holds it out to Dean. "Want one?"

For some reason, Dean was expecting a confrontation, but got none. He doesn't know why he's constantly surprised at Castiel's kindness, but stops pondering over it and instead looks over the pastry selection. He chooses one with what looks to have nuts topping it. Once he takes it, Cas closes the box again and hands him a brown napkin.

"Thank you," Dean says and, just as he's about to bid his adieu, Castiel speaks up once more.

"A couple of people from the office are going out for drinks after work. You should come."

"Really?" Dean raises his brow at the invitation.

"Yeah, it's nothing big. It's at a bar a couple of blocks from here and there are wings, booze, burgers. It'll be fun."

Dean lets out a small smile and runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, why not?" He thinks that's it, but is signaled closer by a repetitive curl of Castiel's finger. Dean takes a slow step forward as Cas reaches behind the secretary's desk, comes out with a pen, and motions for Dean's hand. He scribes several digits across his wrist and, once he lets go, Dean reads it:

**_488.375.8533 - Cas_ **

"Text me when you get off," he says with a wink that is soon accompanied by a smirk. "We can meet up before."

Then, the conversation is _definitely_ over. Cas turns back around to face his sister and leaves Dean to think to himself,  _Holy shit._ Because, just the feel of Cas' fingers on his arm as he had steadied it to write his number on his hand made him feel light-headed and dizzy.

* * *

 

The day is pretty uneventful. The biggest that had happened was that Dean had found out the person Cas had earlier claimed Chuck was obviously sleeping with is _Becky_. Nobody had to tell him, but Castiel was right: it's _obvious._ One glance at their interaction and Dean can tell that their professionalism is simply a façade and a _very bad one at that._

Dean hadn't seen Castiel at all - in fact, he _never_ sees Cas during work hours. He casually asks Ruby about it and, with a rolls of her eyes, she says, _"He has his own office that he stays cooped up in all day, working."_

Dean's slightly surprised at the revelation: from the very few times he's encountered him, he hasn't exactly conveyed such an advanced sense of working etiquette. But then again, he's learned not to really be surprised with Castiel anymore.

There's a staff meeting at three o'clock, three hours before the end of the work week. The active workers for the paper are all required to attend so, naturally, Dean's included. He and Ruby go together, since they had gone to the taco cart outside half an hour before for lunch, and are nearly late by the time they reach the conference room.

Standing at the head of the table is Chuck, dressed down as always, and involved in a light conversation with Becky, who is sitting close to him. There are probably twenty people Dean doesn't know, and then Charlie and Cas, who are sitting side-by-side and talking with some other people at the table. Castiel briefly glances up as he sees Dean enter and smiles before returning his attention back to whoever he's speaking with. Dean and Ruby sit (not together because of the lack of consecutive seats) just as Chuck clears his throat and shuffles a stack of papers that rests on the table in front of him.

"Per usual, this meeting is to discuss SPN's progress report for the last week and to plan articles and columns for next week. Charlie, do we have any major events next week, in terms of museums and galleries?"

Charlie opens a folder in front of her and flips through some documents. "Yeah, the Met is holding an El Greco exhibit Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday."

"Good." Chuck unexpectedly turns his attention to Dean. "You and Winchester can go all three days, take some pictures, and make a spread for Friday. Charlie, I know you particularly like working with Novak, so Castiel can write the article. Are you three okay with that?"

Dean doesn't seem to hear anything after _'You and Winchester...'_ He hadn't expected to be sent out to do field work so soon into his employment, and is ecstatic that next week he'll be free from nine hours of desk work.

Not to mention the fact that he'll spend the better half of next week working with _Cas._ Yes, Charlie too and from what he already knows of her she's great, but _Cas._

Dean doesn't realize he's drifted off until the meeting's over and the entire group starts to disperse. He's shaken out of his thoughts by Becky, who puts a hand on his shoulder as she passes by. He looks up then to see her give him a little wave as she exits. The room is mostly empty, save Chuck and a couple of other people Dean has yet to learn the names of.

He isn't exactly sure why yet, but as Dean stands to leave and resume his work in his cubicle, he can't help but think, _Fuck, I'm screwed_.

* * *

 

**6:00**

Dean watches the hour hand on the analog clock that hangs on the far wall snap to six and exhales deeply, not even realizing he's been holding in his breath in the first place. He's officially off work and, of course, he glances at the digits he'd scribbled on a Post-It pad earlier that morning. For some reason, he's _reluctant_ to text Cas, as if he didn't actually tell him to. There shouldn't be a problem, but Dean gets a familiar queasiness in the pit of his stomach that he gets whenever he's about to do something's he's not completely sure he should.

But still, a couple of decisive moments later, Dean has his phone in his hand and is entering Cas' number in the app's _receiver_ 's field and types out a hurried:

_This is Dean...I'm off, where should I meet you?_

He presses send and leans back in his chair, stupidly content with his 'accomplishment' and brushes his hair from his face.

 

**_488.375.8533:_ ** _Outside in 5?_

 

The reply comes quickly and Dean's isn't any slower.

 

_Okay._

 

 

Before Dean locks his phone, he adds a name to the number, since _488.375.8533_ seems more than a little formal.

 

_**Cas** _

 

Content, once again, he puts his things into the briefcase he carries to work and rises from the office chair.

"Where are _you_ going?" Ruby suddenly asks, surprising Dean as he hadn't noticed she was still there.

Dean frowns and checks his watch. Yeah, 6:04 PM.

"It's six," he replies a matter-of-factly, and Ruby cocks her eyebrow.

"You always stay after hours. I assumed that you don't have much of a life."

Dean chuckles humorlessly. "Thanks for that."

"No, but really." Ruby drops her legs from her desk and wheels around in her chair to face him. "Where are you going?"

It then occurs to Dean that Ruby wouldn't be one of the people invited to hang out after work. Earlier that day, hers and Castiel's interaction had been strained and passive aggressive so, it doesn't take a genius to realize Ruby's probably the last person Cas wants to hang out with extracurricularly.

And it's not his place to invite her.

"Nowhere. I just want to go home. It's Friday, and I haven't had a chance to call my younger brother."

It's a half-truth: it _is_ Friday and he hasn't had the chance to talk with Sam. He makes a mental note to call him before the night is out.

"Okay Winchester." Ruby doesn't peel her gaze away as Dean walks through the section of cubicles and down the hall. He shivers slightly, half of him feeling guilty and the other half wondering what she had done to piss Cas off.

* * *

 

Castiel is leaning against the building when Dean finally gets outside, and is bouncing on his toes as if to keep warm. His hands are slid into the pockets of his trench coat and his hair is in a disarray as it is pushed and pulled against the wind.

"Hey," Dean says, walking over to him and Castiel immediately straightens as he comes closer. He smiles, and nothing like the flirtatious, knowing smirks he has given him in the past, but a genuine _smile_. Dean thinks it looks nice on him, as taut dimples align themselves along his cheeks and the corners of his eyes crinkle, making his inanely blue eyes light up even more.

"Hey," he replies simply, his breath making clouds in the cold evening air. They begin to walk side by side, down the short concrete steps and up the sidewalk parallel to the skyscraper. It should be dark outside, but the lack of sunlight is invalidated as the cars, buildings, and signs make the entire city buzz alive. "So, I guess the three of us'll be working together next week- you, Charlie, and me, I mean."

Dean nods. "Yeah, I hope I don't screw up."

Cas chuckles softly and they stop to wait for a pedestrian light. "I've said this before- I've seen your work and you're not _bad_. I actually quite like the photos. I think there was this one of a car in a thunderstorm? It was an _unreal_ shot. Seriously, how the fuck were you able to capture a _lightning bolt_?"

Dean immediately knows which one Cas is talking about: three years into college, Dean had been working on a project and he'd wanted to capture his 'essence.' Sure, it sounds like a bunch of hipster bullshit, but it had actually been an insightful experience. He ended up driving his Impala up some cliff and parking it at an angle. It was dangerous, of course, because of the thunderstorm Cas was referring to, but it has been worth it when he was able to snap a couple of good pictures, his favorite being one where he actually caught a bolt of lightning cracking the sky in half. "I hadn't meant to," Dean replies truthfully and they cross the street.

"See? _Talent_. You're able to transform an original idea into something much more amazing, and that's what creativity is really about."

Cas' words sink in and they walk in silence for the rest of the way. However, it's not long at all, as the bar is right on that block. Castiel leads the way inside and Dean is immensely satisfied with wave of warmth.

"Cas!" Someone calls from a booth in the far back. Dean moves in the wrong direction, so Cas' hand finds itself to the small of his back to guide him toward the table. Dean's breath hitches in his throat, but Castiel doesn't seem to notice. Even through the thick fabric of his jacket, Dean can feel Castiel's fingers on him.

"Guys, this is Dean Winchester," Castiel introduces, moving his hand from Dean's back to gesture toward the booth of five or so people. "Dean, this is Bela, Meg, Kevin, Michael, Lisa, and you've already met Charlie."

They all let out a monotonous ' _hello_ ,' and Dean presses his lips together, smiling in return. He's seen each of them around the office, and he's sure that they have also seen _him_ , so no one asks what he's doing there. Instead, Castiel lets him slide into the booth, beside the girl he had pointed out to be Lisa, and Cas gets in right after.

Conversation recommences almost immediately and idle chatter is made. Dean pitches in at some parts, but mostly listens to everyone else talk and laughs at the small jokes. However, moments later, Dean is pulled out of it by a warm hand on his shoulder. With the assumption that it is Castiel, he feels his heart in his throat at the touch. But, as he looks toward the person who has their hand on him, he realizes that it is actually _Lisa._

She smiles widely. "So Dean, how's New York been treating you?"

Dean scratches at the back of his neck, not certain how to respond to that. He hasn't really been able to do anything synonymous to living in New York; he's been shut up either in his house or at the office, doing nine-to-six at the paper, and six-to-nine at his apartment. There's been no room for sightseeing or tourism of any sort. Lisa's able to read Dean's expression before he has the chance to say anything, and her jaw falls agape. "Have you _not_ been given the full NYC-experience?"

Dean shrugs. "It's not that big of a deal."

"But, it _is_!" Lisa purses her lips and pulls her long, brown hair away from her face. "You know what? I'll show you around this weekend. So you can get a feel of the city."

And there it is. Dean isn't an idiot, and he knows flirting when he sees it (despite the fact that office relationships are a big _no no_ ). He's had girls, along with some guys 'subtly' ask him out in more or less the same context: _What? You've never been to the bar across town? I'd have to take you some time._ Or, _No way you haven't seen the new Marvel movie, we should go together. I don't mind watching it again._

It's an endless cycle of indirect dating, and that's probably why Dean had been so taken aback by Castiel's bluntness earlier in the week when they had first met. And it is with that thought that he replies, "Actually, I was going to ask Cas."

Lisa's brow creases, and her eyes avert from Dean's face to Castiel's, who had joined the _tête-à-tête_ as soon as his name was mentioned. "Ask me what?" He asks in a curious tone, and Dean turns toward him, feeling only slightly guilty for sliding past Lisa's attempt at asking him out.

"To show me around and give me a sense of my new home," he replies. "The _NYC-experience,_ as Lisa had put it."

Cas gives him an amused look and cocks his head to the side to get a better read of the situation. It's an odd request, sure, and once again they don't _really_ know each other. But, that's the thing- Dean _wants_ to know him. Even throughout the entire week, when he'd had no sight of Cas and had begun to make friends with Ruby and Becky, at one point or the other he'd thought to himself, _I wonder what Castiel is doing right now,_ or _What if Cas just walks through that door._ It's more than a little ridiculous, but Dean doesn't care. If he's being honest with himself, which is something he does very rarely, he might sort of like him. If Sam was here, he'd _definitely_ laugh in his face at the pure chick-flick moments he's been experiencing for the last five days and tell him to grow a pair.

But Sam is _not_ here.

Castiel gazes at Dean for a little longer, and once he gets up to the point when the stare makes Dean a little uncomfortable, he grins and shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "Sure, should be fun."

And Dean really hopes it is.

* * *

 

Later that night, after several hours of light drinking and burger-eating, Charlie, Dean, and Castiel share a cab to get to their respective houses. Charlie, living closer to the bar, reaches her condo first, allowing Cas and Dean some time alone.

"Lisa likes you," Castiel says after some moments of silence, his forehead resting against the window. Though Cas isn't looking, Dean quirks his eyebrow at him.

"Does she?"

Hearing his slightly-sarcastic, slightly-innocent tonality, Castiel snorts and stares at Dean. "Oh, _you_ _know._ Don't play naïve with me, Dean Winchester." Dean laughs but says nothing. Several more moments go by. "So, do you like her?"

Dean frowns slightly. "What?"

"Do you like Lisa?"

He blinks, because even though he fully knows the answer, he hadn't expected Castiel to ask. "I mean...no. I _just_ met her."

Cas nods slightly and Dean watches him idly play with a watch on his wrist. Despite the obvious nervous habit, he is somehow able to keep his eyes trained on the other man. "So, am I not going to give you the _NYC experience_?"

The phrase is so _incredibly stupid_ , but because of the buzz he had gotten from the two or three bottles of beer, Castiel's voice became lower and huskier than usual.

"Do you...do you  _want_ to give me the NYC experience?"

Cas chuckles lowly and runs his thumb over his bottom lip. "I think this is your stop, Winchester."

Dean glances out of the window and sees that, yes, the cab had stopped right in front of his apartment building. He doesn't think he's ever not wanted to leave a taxi as much as he doesn't want to at this moment. Dean unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to open his door. But, before he can grab the handle, Castiel's hand lightly brushes his thigh to stop him. He turns back.

"Text me."

It takes a lot for Dean to suppress his grin, and he has to swallow the suffocating lump in his throat. "Yeah, of course."

Castiel nods and leans back, moving his hand from Dean's work slacks to the seat beside him. "Goodnight, Dean."

"'Night Cas."

Dean leaves the cab and shuts the door behind him. It's not until it's far down the still-busy city street that he remembers that he hadn't paid the fare.

He makes a mental note to repay Cas for that. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I'd be able to finish this so soon, and I'm really happy I did. Editing was a bitch because I don't usually do 5K words per piece, but I still enjoyed writing this. Hopefully, you've realized that it's going to start picking up in pace, and the first chapter or so of any of my writing are geared toward setting the scene.
> 
> Next chapter will definitely have some Sam in it, more extravagant Destiel, and elaboration on some characters.
> 
> xx


	3. A Little Bit of Led Zeppelin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Of course you have a sushi kit." Dean shakes his head slightly and puts his elbows on the counter to rest his chin on the heels of his hands. Castiel creases his brow and shuts his laptop, cocking his head to the side a bit.
> 
> "What's that supposed to mean?"
> 
> But, Dean just shakes his head again. "Nothing. It's just that you are...so unreal."
> 
> Castiel pushes his hair away from his face and smiles. "I can assure you Dean Winchester, I am very real."

The next morning is a lazy start for Dean, as he awakens on his plainly-dressed bed to the blinding white light of the New York winter sun that had found its way through his bedroom's window. The first thing he sees, after blinking away the glare, is the large stack of boxes in the corner of the room, mocking him as Dean comes to the realization that today's probably the only day he'd get to actually fully unpack his things. Even after a week of residence, more than half of his belongings are in cardboard moving boxes, with the exception of his work clothes and hygiene products. The apartment is big, and empty, and maybe a little lonely without anything to mark Dean's presence so he finally decides to get up and finally make himself at home. 

He had talked to his brother the night before. Sam was very excited to hear from him, and went on and on about his new life at Stanford, what it had been like starting a semester late, and the immense workload that comes with wanting to be a law and society major. Sam had also mentioned a girl, Jessica Moore, that he's friends with (though the way he talked about her indicated something more) and Dean couldn't be any happier; the two of them are doing what they want, in the places they've always dreamed and that makes him insanely proud.

Dean hadn't said much about New York. Sam prodded for details about his new life in such an enigmatic city, but all he got was loose mentions of Becky and Ruby, and the innumerable amount of people bustling about the streets on a day-to-day basis. He didn't mention Cas- of  _course_  he didn't mention Cas. If Dean could see a deeper connection between Sam and Jess with only the evidence of Sam's words, he's positive Sam would be able to do the same. And whatever... _whatever_  Dean feels for Cas is too odd to even  _think_  about, let alone talk about. He's not even sure what they are, having only talked a bit and spent time together twice. Definitely not something he cares to discuss with his younger brother at the moment.

After a long, warm shower, Dean finally gets to unpacking, starting with putting his clothes away in the closet and furnishing his bedroom. It's not a lot, but Dean can already feel his spirits lifting as he gives it a once-over afterwards. He flattens and folds the empty boxes and carries them to the door.

And that's his morning: he spends hours unpacking, his uncovered Led Zeppelin and Queen vinyls spinning in the turntable he had found at one point. It is oddly calming, doing something that doesn't have to do with work, and he feels a sense of immense accomplishment as the last of his things are settled into their proper place in the apartment.

Dean takes a seat on a stool by his kitchen bar and flips his cell phone in his hand. He thinks briefly of calling Becky, knowing that she'd be suitable company, and almost does it. However, he sees the name under hers— _Castiel_ —and his thumb wavers uncertainly above the touchscreen. 

He could call Cas. He could  _definitely_  call Cas. Cas had even told him to call over the weekend, taking him up on his impromptu request to show him around the city. Though, calling him would be treading on thin ice. He just  _got_  this job at SPN, he doesn't want to lose it all in the same month.

So, Dean doesn't call anyone. He prefers the silence anyway, a nice contrast from the bustling week he's had. For the next couple of hours, he keeps  _Game of Thrones_  playing on the living room's TV while he stays on the kitchen stool and drinks a beer. The lack of anything to do is oddly calming, and he nearly forgets he's ever left Kansas.

After a while, though, he inevitably grows hungry and realizes he hasn't actually eaten anything all day. No, he's cleaned, made himself at home, listened to copious amounts of music, watched TV, and even drank a bit. It never dawned on him that, you know, eating is a  _necessary_ part of the day. And it also dawns on him that he knows no local takeout numbers and he hasn't been grocery shopping yet. So, he'd have to go outside.

He dresses in a couple of minutes, only taking care to put on a warm jacket, an old pair of jeans, and black boots. The weatherman says that it's thirty degrees outside, but (from experience) Dean is beginning to realize that New York doesn't have a very accurate weather team.

Dean doesn't even know what he's planning to get- anything that'd stop the uncomfortable knotting in his stomach- when he leaves his apartment with his credit card and the hope that there's anything savory around his neighborhood. He was  _supposed_ to know about the restaurants available in the Upper West Side and probably would if he'd given Castiel the time of day earlier. And for the umpteenth time, he shakes all thoughts of Cas from his head and leaves his building.

* * *

Dean spends  _way_ more time than he anticipated looking for a good takeout spot. There's been a couple of bodegas (but he doesn't feel for _Lays_ and a _Coke_ for dinner) and more than a little small business clothing shops, but nothing that's considered suitable for actually eating. After the first twenty minutes, he grows frustrated, mumbling to himself about the wind chill and the fact that he feels like he hasn't eaten in years. He doesn't even know where he _is_ anymore, and more or less feels like jumping off of a building. And, of course, his taxi-hailing skills (though somewhat better) are still less than favorable and he can't get a cab home to save his life.

" _Dean_?" 

Dean turns around at the mention of his name, not even considering the fact that there must be thousands of Deans in the city and there's no verification that the person is talking specifically to him. But, it's Cas so what are the odds that he's not the one being addressed?

"Oh...hi," Dean says with a sheepish smile. Castiel is standing a couple of feet from him- it looks like he's exiting a shop, and slowly makes his way toward him as he realizes that it is, in fact, Dean Winchester.

Castiel looks no different than he does during the week, as he wears the same beige trench coat and his hair is still an utter mess as the wind grows relentless. "Did you _walk_ all the way here?"

Dean creases his brow and purses his lips, as he readies himself to pretend as if Cas is being ridiculous. "What?  _No_ , of course I didn't. And...where exactly is  _here_?" 

Cas laughs, obviously not buying the front Dean is putting up, and pulls the two of them off to the side as to not get in the way of anyone walking. "You're in  _Midtown_. And I'm going to take a wild guess and assume you're lost?"

Dean groans and folds his arms over his chest. "Yeah...I, uhm, I just really wanted some food."

Cas laughs again, though softer this time, and lightly touches Dean's forearm. "You should've  _called_  someone. It's nonsensical to travel to  _Midtown_  for cheap Chinese food."

"Well, I was feeling adventurous." Dean chuckles dryly. "And I just seriously do not know my way around...well, anywhere. This city is too goddamned big."

Castiel puts his hands in his coat pockets. "Well, I was just heading home to cook dinner. I live around here so you can...you know, come along. That is, if you're still hungry."

Dean clears his throat unnecessarily, trying to hide his surprise at the invitation, and tries to nod his consent as calmly as possible. "Uhm, yeah. Why not?"

There's a ringing in his ears as Castiel leads the way from whatever corner of Midtown Dean had found himself and light conversation is made. Cas talks a little about his life- he has several sisters (Hannah, whom he had already met, Anna, who goes to Columbia to study medicine, and Naomi, the eldest of the siblings with a PhD in psychology and works as a therapist in Long Island) and just as many brothers (Gabriel, who owns a hugely-successful candy shoppe right by Coney Island, Michael, who is in the Navy, and Luke, who had removed himself from the family when he turned nineteen). His parents are insufferable, though he loves them to bits, and in addition to writing for SPN (apparently, he has his own seminal column, documenting the acts and behaviors of the regular citizens of New York City.  _Random Acts_ , Cas likes to call it.  _There are more random acts of kindness throughout the boroughs than people realize_ ), he's a novelist.

Dean listens to what Castiel has to say with genuine interest, and only speaks when he asks about him.

"I have a brother. Sam," he says as they cross the street. "We grew up in Lawrence, Kansas, with our Mom and Dad. They divorced when I was four, so we just continued living with our mother. Barely seen our Dad since, but his old best friend, Bobby Singer still kept an eye on us."

Cas just sort of nods along to what Dean is telling him, and Dean is more than a little grateful that he doesn't give him the pitiful look that most people do when they realize his father hasn't been in his life. Sure, it sucks, but there's no need to pretend as if Uncle Bobby's and his Mom's parenting hadn't been more than enough.

They get to Cas' building in about twenty minutes, and it is  _much_ larger than Dean had thought. He didn't understand how writing alone could get someone a Manhattan apartment with a concierge and glassy lobby, but he doesn't ask. He follows closely behind as Castiel leads the way through the door, into the elevator, and up to the sixth floor.

"What do you do, sell drugs or something?" Dean asks under his breath, not intending for Cas to hear. But, he does anyway and chuckles as he unlocks his door. 

"I hadn't expected to get a scholarship to Duke, so I started saving in seventh grade. Naturally, my parents didn't want me to study literature and writing dynamics at Duke but rather medicine or law at Harvard, so they sat me down at an early age and told me that their route is the only education that they're funding. I had about eighty or ninety thousand from working nonstop in high school and filing for taxes every year. It wasn't nearly enough for college, but I got the full ride anyway. I decided that I'd put some of the money toward buying this place."

They enter his apartment, and Dean stands in the doorway with a sense of disbelief as he takes in Castiel's home.

It's definitely modern and gorgeous, nothing Dean could ever  _hope_ of affording. The entire far wall is just glass, giving a beautiful view of the bright city, and there's a fucking  _balcony._ Dean seriously begins to wonder is Castiel  _is_ a drug dealer, not exactly believing that a portion of eighty thousand dollars could pay for this place.

Castiel takes off his coat and hangs it on a rack by the door, revealing a fitted black shirt underneath. He glances back at Dean with a confused frown and Dean swallows a thick lump in his throat.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Dean steps further into the house, feeling as if he's somehow destroying the opulence of it, and watches as Castiel disappears down a hallway.

"Take off your jacket," he hears him say. "Make yourself at home- I don't bite."

Dean takes a deep breath and shrugs off the leather jacket he had went for today, putting it up next to Cas'. "Should I take off my shoes?"

Castiel snorts as he reappears, carrying a laptop. He opens it on the marble kitchen island. "This isn't exactly a mosque. Your shoes can stay on. So- what are you feeling for? Japanese or Italian?"

Dean walks to the opposite end of the island and leans against it, mulling over his choices. "What does Japanese entail?"

Cas looks up from his computer, the bright white light making his eyes seem like they're sparkling, and replies with, "I bought a sushi kit a couple of days ago, so we could try it out if you want."

"Of  _course_  you have a sushi kit." Dean shakes his head slightly and puts his elbows on the counter to rest his chin on the heels of his hands. Castiel creases his brow and shuts his laptop, cocking his head to the side a bit.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

But, Dean just shakes his head again. "Nothing. It's just that you are...so  _unreal_."

Castiel pushes his hair away from his face and smiles. "I can assure you Dean Winchester, I am very real."

"Mmhm. And I suppose you've also got a  _great_ taste in music and turntable around here somewhere."

Cas raises his eyebrows and glances toward the living room. "I mean, my vinyl collection is over there. Right by my...uh, record player. You should go choose something."

Dean is still shaking his head as he heads over to the aforementioned section of the living room with the box of vinyls and turntable. "Unreal!" He calls over his shoulder and smiles as he hears Castiel laugh. Dean crouches down to flips through Cas' plentiful collection of records. " _American Idiot_? Really?" He pulls out the album and turns to show it to the other man. He stops what he's doing in the kitchen and glances at what Dean's referring to. 

"Don't tell me you don't like Green Day."

"There are better albums. There are better  _bands_."

Castiel feigns hurt and holds his hand to his heart. "How  _dare_ you. I'm sorry Dean, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Nobody insults the genius that is Billie Joe Armstrong."

"Oh,  _ha ha_." He replaces the record and, a couple of moments later, lets out a faint squeak of surprise and joy as he spots a cover with a signature photo of dual brownstones. "No way, man! You've got _Physical Graffiti_!" 

"Oh, yeah, the Zeppelin record. Why, do you like them?"

" _Do I like them?_ " Dean repeats mockingly and uncovers the vinyl. "Dude, this just repaired my faith in your taste in music."

He gingerly places the disc in the player and sets the needle on the vinyl before returning to the kitchen. Castiel already has rice on the burner to boil and is cutting up an avocado. He looks utterly calm, and Dean watches the way his wrist flex whenever he sinks the large steel knife into the green vegetable. Cas looks back at him as he feels him staring and points the knife at the bowl at the other end of the counter. "On a scale of one to ten, how good are you with cutting up cucumbers?" 

Dean shrugs. "I don't know. I've never actually cooked a day in my life."

" _Awesome_. Bottom line? Don't cut off your finger and don't make the slices too thin."

Dean searches the drawers for a sizable knife and finds one that isn't as intimidating as Cas', but not as useless as a butterknife. He accepts the cutting board Castiel hands to him and takes one of the pre-skinned cucumbers. He realizes that Cas is watching closely (probably terrified that Dean might actually cut off one of his fingers) and laughs nervously.

"It's just cutting, right?"

Castiel tries to hide his amused grin as he nods. "Yes, just cutting."

"God...okay." He places one hand to steady the cucumber and rests the blade of the knife to make the first slice.

And, of course, there was no reason to fucking worry because it is literally the easiest job in the world. Dean breathes a sigh of relief as he finishes the first cucumber and looks at Cas for approval. He just laughs and takes the rice off of the stove. "Now, you've got to cut the slices into tinier pieces so they can actually fit in the rolls."

"I'm not  _done_?"

"Do you want to be done? I can do it if you don't want to."

"No, no, I've got it."

He starts chopping again as Castiel drains the rice (which he had somehow gotten to be sticky...Dean didn't care to ask) through a colander and keeps it in the sink.

"No, don't cut them  _that_  small," Cas corrects as he notices that Dean's basically mincing the cucumber slices. Dean groans his contempt and rolls his shoulders back frustratedly. Cas notices this and sighs. "Cut them in  _threes_. Look."

Dean gets ready to step back and let the one who actually knows what he's doing take over, but lets out a little gasp of surprise as he feels Castiel's chest press against his back and his hands steady his. They're both completely still for a moment, and Dean shivers as he feels Cas' warm breath tickle his neck.

Dean lets Cas guide his hands, and totally  _doesn't_ enjoy the way Cas' skin feels on his, or how being in such close proximity makes him feel.

They cut the next slice in two swift motions of the knife and Dean tries to control his breathing. "I think I could've done that on my own."

"You  _obviously_ couldn't."

Castiel's hands slide from Dean's and onto the countertop and, without thinking, Dean turns around. They're  _much_ closer than he had thought and his breath hitches in his throat as Cas' stare averts from Dean's eyes to his lips.

" _Cas._ " It's a breathy warning, but Dean's heart isn't in it. Both he and Castiel can tell.

Castiel is closer now, and his hands move from the counter to Dean's waist. Cas leans in and his lips brush Dean's neck. "Yes?"

"We can't..." His voice trails off and all words are forgotten as Castiel places small, chaste kisses trailing from his collarbone to his chin, and lets his parted lips rest on the corner of his mouth. 

"Can't what, Dean?" Cas mumbles, blue eyes flicking up to meet his green ones. "You've got to say it. Say it, and I'll stop."

Dean is  _way_ too far gone to do that and his eyes flutter shut as Cas closes his mouth, taking Dean's bottom lip with it. After several long, heart-pounding seconds of still silence, Castiel finally pulls back. When Dean reopens his eyes, Cas is staring at him, face red and expressionless.

With a knotted feeling of regret, Dean realizes he hasn't exactly been  _reciprocating._ All he's really done is stand frightfully still, and the encounter could hardly get any less consensual than that.

He  _wants_ it. Of-fucking-course he wants it, and he's slightly annoyed by the fact that Castiel can't see that. 

And of  _course_ he's hesitant. One of the first things Cas had ever even told him had been the strict ' _inter-office-relationships is a definite no'_ policy. 

But he wants it. And as Robert Plant sings the  _Houses of The Holy_ lyrics  _There's an angel on my shoulder, in my hand a sword of gold,_ and he feels Castiel's hands lose their grip in his shirt, Dean leans forward, takes his face in his hands, and presses their lips together.

It's awkward at first, as it's a surprise for both men, but they soon find a suitable rhythm and they got lost in the motions.

Castiel's mouth is warm and welcoming, and Dean doesn't mind the stubble tickling his chin as Cas licks at his bottom lip and slots their mouths together  _way too perfectly._ It slows down after a while, not as rushed and wanton, and Dean's hands slip away from Cas' face to loop his arms around his neck.

Castiel is the first to pull away, though he still places several chaste kisses on Dean's lips. "We're supposed to be making sushi."

"At least I know how to cut cucumbers now."

Cas grins against his lips and he presses their foreheads together. "At least."

They pull apart and Castiel returns to whatever he was doing before...this, leaving Dean to finish the insanely simple task he had apparently needed help with. But, he's not complaining because what had come out of it was  _infinitely_ worth it.

And as Cas periodically looks up and gives him blissful smiles and winks that leave him breathless, Dean realizes how utterly fucked he is.


	4. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kiss is lazy, as Castiel is still sedated with drowsiness and the stillness of the morning. But, it's more than acceptable and nice and Dean nearly forgets that it could possibly mean the end of his job at SPN.

Dean awakes in a place completely foreign to him. He panics as he feels too-soft sheets brush his skin, overwhelmed with drowsiness and confusion, but then all tenseness leaves his body as he feels a warm arm draped over his bare waist. 

Oh.

_Oh._

He remembers everything from last night now, from the first kiss to the abandoned meal as all either of them wanted to do was kiss and touch and feel in the assured comfort of Castiel's bed.

Dean doesn't dare to move, not wanting to disrupt Cas because he'd be damned if he'd be alright with losing contact with the other man. It feels extremely surreal to be honest, and he doesn't understand why. It's not like Dean has any particular _trouble_ in this department; he is  _more_ than competent to be honest, so there's no reason for his heart to want to jump out of its socket as he feels Castiel's chest rise and fall against his back as he sleeps soundly. There's definitely no reason for Dean to shiver as Cas' fingers unintentionally ghost over warm flesh, and want to beg for more as it falls away.

Jesus  _fuck._

"Cas," Dean mutters, not really knowing what he'd say if Cas did respond. But, he doesn't have that problem because there _is_ no response. He's heard him though, Dean knows that much from the way Cas' hand suddenly bunches up the waistband of Dean's boxers and the side of Cas' face presses closer to his own. His hair tickles his neck a bit, but he doesn't mind.

"Go back to sleep Dean," Cas manages to mumble out, and just the sound of his voice sends shivers down Dean's spine. He's never done this before, not really, in terms of staying the night, but he doesn't feel any weirdness in lifting Cas' hand and intertwining their fingers, keeping their hands in the air so as to study just how perfectly they fit together. A steady stream of light enters from the wide bedroom window, declaring that it's early morning, and Dean feels an odd sense of contentedness.

"Not a morning person, then?"

"It's _Sunday_. There's no reason for me to be."

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by the shrill sound of his phone ringing somewhere on the floor. Dean stiffens at the unexpected noise and, with an impatient groan, Cas shifts away from him and buries himself under the duvet  

"Answer your phone, Dean."

"M'kay." He finds his phone in his jeans; that are thankfully just strewn very close to the bed and spots who's calling.

_Ruby_.

Barely knowing what anything about Cas and Ruby's relationship, but knowing enough regardless, he probably shouldn't answer her while lying half-naked next to Castiel himself. But, he does anyway, curious as to what the hell Ruby Cortese could want at 8 AM on a Sunday morning.

"Hello?" He answers, a little groggy.

"Thank fucking God that you answered, Dean. Becky went to church and I don't have anyone to get pancakes at IHOP with."

Dean furrows his brows. "You don't even _like_ her."

"She always pays for my stacks. Anyway, she's not going today because she learned what church Chuck goes to and decided to meet them there."

"The perks of being religious," Dean jokes and Ruby snickers.

"Yeah, right. More like The Perks of Being Rule-Breaking _Idiots_. Anyway, are you coming or not? We can go Dutch."

"Actually, I'm busy."

Dean can practically _hear_ her narrowed eyes. "Are you busy or _getting_ busy?"

"Goodbye."

"I expect to hear all about it tomorrow, Winchester!"

He hangs up and lets his phone fall out of his hand.

It's right back on the floor, but Dean doesn't care at this point because he's rolling over to face the man that he's found himself in bed with. He's still under the covers, obviously trying to recapture his lost moments of sleep, so Dean ducks his head under the comforter too.

"Hey babe," Dean starts, landing his hands on Cas' waist and sidling closer. He plants a soft kiss on his chin, all the way up to the side of his mouth, and grins when he hears Cas' frustrated groan.

"Honestly, what  _time_  is it?"

"Does it matter?"

And then they're kissing.

Dean thinks he could kiss Cas forever, getting addicted to the way their mouth slots together and move in such a synchronous manner as if they're meant to be together. Dean isn't one for romance, but he feels like he could be with Cas. That he  _wants_  to be with Cas.

The kiss is lazy, as Castiel is still sedated with drowsiness and the stillness of the morning. But, it's  _more_  than acceptable and nice and Dean nearly forgets that it could possibly mean the end of his job at SPN.

They get up half an hour later, Castiel disappearing into the bathroom as Dean moves to collect and put on his clothes from last night. Once he's dressed, Cas leaves the bathroom for him and, after he's brushed his teeth with one of the new toothbrushes that Cas leaves in the medicine cabinet, he wanders into the kitchen, where coffee is brewing on the coffee maker.

"Do you have anywhere to be today?" Castiel asks from the living room, flipping through his box of records.

"Not really, no," Dean replies, and hops up onto a bar stool. "Why?"

"I thought we could do something."

An airy, riffed guitar fills the apartment after Castiel rests a black and gold vinyl on his turntable and gently rests the needle onto the record.

_In a foreign place, the saving grace was the feeling that it was her heart that he was stealing._

The line rings through Dean's subconscious, sending shivers down his spine, but it's immediately replaced by a sturdy warmth as Castiel envelopes him in his arms, forcing him to stand up and press closely to the other man. There'd been an annoying voice in his head all morning:  _It was a mistake. This is a one-time thing. It was a mistake_. Cas didn't act much differently around him since they left the bed earlier, so Dean was waiting for the infamous,  _So, about last night...that can't ever happen again_  talk. But, in never came and now, as Cas sways the two of them back and forth in time to the music (which is a little odd, seeing as he's still a couple of inches shorter than Dean and his Cas' forehead touches his chin) he realizes that he's an idiot and Castiel is simply _not_ a morning person.

_The eyes are bright, he couldn't wait to get away. And I bet that Juliet was just the icing on the cake. Make no mistake, no._

"Are you asking me on a date?" Dean asks, voice muffled into his hair and with a tone filled with slight disbelief.

"Is that bad? I know the situation isn't the best so if this is the end of the road then just tell me."

Dean doesn't say anything for a while, listening to the record Castiel had found appropriate to play. "What is this?"

"What is what?"

"The song—what's playing?"

Castiel's breath tickles Dean's collarbone as he replies, "Oh, it's Arctic Monkeys,  _Favourite Worst Nightmare_ , 2007. The song is Only Ones Who Know." Dean chuckles and Cas glances up at him. "Oh, don't tell me you don't like Arctic Monkeys either. You hate Arctic Monkeys and Green Day but love Led Zeppelin. You've got the music taste of my grandfather."

"Oh yes, compare the guy you just slept with with your granddad."

Dean thinks that was he'd said was at least half-funny, but it didn't generate any sort of laugh from Castiel. He actually pulled away a bit to look up at Dean with those inanely blue eyes of his to say, "You never answered my question."

"What question?" But Dean knows exactly what question Cas is talking about- he just doesn't know the answer it. He hopes he'd have some time to stall, but Cas comes back with what he'd asked earlier, nearly verbatim.

" _I know that our situation isn't exactly the best, so if this is the end of the line, just tell me."_

Dean hesitates long enough to lose Castiel's presence against him, as Cas backs away  _way too much_ and folds his arms over his chest. It's more from self-conscious than angry, but Dean suddenly doesn't have the heart to look at him in the eye anymore.

_And I bet she told a million people that she'd stay in touch. But all the little promises, they don't mean much when there're memories to be made._

"It's just..." Dean begins, and it takes him a minute to put words to his thoughts. "My family, you know, back home in Kansas were so damn proud of me getting this job. I was proud of _myself_ for getting this job. I just can't lose it."

"Of course, you don't have to explain yourself," Cas forces a smile on his face and steps past Dean to enter the kitchen. He takes the pot from the coffee maker. "Do you want some coffee for the road?"

The record makes a terrible screeching sound then, and Alex Turner repeats the same line over and over again:  _You are the only ones who know._ Cas' gaze flickers to his turntable then and mutters a curse under his breath.

"I'm sorry, it's an old record. I got it when the album came out in '07 and I've listened to it so many times that it's probably got scratches everywhere."

"No, it's fine. And, uhm, coffee would be nice." Dean replies and as he watches Cas retrieve a paper mug from a cupboard, setting it down next to a black ceramic one, he hates himself for being the one that managed to disrupt such a perfectly lovely face with a such a terribly contorted smile. But, he would've been lying if he'd said he was comfortable with putting his job at SPN on the line, and he  _can't_ hate himself for trying to keep the only thing he ever wanted since he started college all of those years ago.

As Cas tops the mug with a plastic lid, the record begins to run smoothly again, going right into a quick drum beat and heavy guitar riff. "Here you go, then. Black, two sugars, just as you like it."

Dean wants to ask how Castiel knows that that's how he likes it, but he also wants to escape the thick tension that has taken residence in the large apartment. The cup is still hot but Dean grins and bears through it, knowing that he has gloves in his coat pockets.

Castiel sees him to the door and watches Dean pull on his coat, then scarf, and finally his black leather gloves, the mouth of the mug barely touching his lips. He's given up on smiling now, and just opens the door for Dean with an expressionless face. He could beat Chip Reese at  _poker_ with that goddamned face and Dean feels an awful sinking feeling in his gut.

"I'm sorry," Dean decides to say, pressing his lips together as he steps through the door frame. Cas' fingers drum against the wood of the door and he shakes his head.

"Don't you _dare_ apologize, Dean. I put your job in danger last night, so I'm the one who should be sorry. And I am, I should've never initiated anything."

With a polite nod and a promise to see him next week for the project Dean, Charlie, and Cas have been assigned to work on, Cas closes the door and Dean moves numbly toward the elevator on the other side of the hall.

 

 


	5. Air Catcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wonders then why Castiel Novak has such a big interest in him out of all people. Sure, he knows that he's not terrible and he's some degree of attractive, but when he first moved to New York City, he'd never thought that some guy whose family lives in the Hamptons, who has an incredible apartment in Midtown with a record player, a vinyl collection that contains Led Zeppelin, and a sushi kit (because who in the hell owns sushi kits), who kisses like a God, and who looks like a fucking angel would be pining after him. 
> 
> Cas is so beautiful and so kind and just fuck, Dean wants him so goddamned much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this isn't edited just as yet- I wanted to get this chapter out there for you guys as soon as possible. At some point, I will be sure to read it over and change any grammatical errors.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> xx

_I won't fall in love with falling. I will try to avoid those eyes 'cause I'm not sure I want to give you tools that can destroy my heart. - Twenty One Pilots_

* * *

  

It makes sense that Dean isn't exactly looking forward to work Monday morning.

He pulls himself from his bed at six o'clock, tired and irritated, and switches on the TV to broadcast the morning weekday news. He'd thrown an extravagant pity party the day before, attended by one, and basically drank himself until he was numb and could stop thinking about how Cas' kisses taste and that he'd never get to experience them again.

Castiel  _hates_ him now, there's no doubt about it. Dean is on Cas' shit list and the remainder of his stay at SPN is going to be so  _shitty_ because of it. There's going to be rudeness and cold glares, made even more chilling by the fact that the man has the bluest eyes anyone has ever actually seen. There's a dull ache vibrating in Dean's skull and he just wishes he never met Cas in the first place.

But then he curses at himself because of how much he _doesn't_ mean that. He's so fucked in more ways than just one, so he decides to push all thoughts to the back of his mind, instead focusing on where he plans on buying coffee before he goes to work.  

Dean settles for something different to wear, rather than the suit and tie he'd been wearing last week. He's gotten used to the SPN scene, enough to know that his suit jacket doesn't fit into the casual, dressed-down unspoken code that the office has. He doesn't want to dress in the cardigan-and-slacks attire of a metrosexual either, so he just shrugs on a leather jacket and jeans, praying that it'd be enough to shield him from the New York cold. 

* * *

_"Dean Winchester, when did you get so_ bold?" Ruby grins up as Dean approaches her and Becky on the steps in front of the building. Becky looks  _exhausted,_ perhaps even more so than Dean, as she leans tiredly against the railing and takes long sips from her coffee cup. She acknowledges his presence with a half-nod.

"Is it too casual?" Dean looks down at his clothes self-conciously. 

"No, it's just...you look less like a kiss-ass and more like yourself. I don't exactly  _know_ what you look like when you're not trying to suck up to the big boss, but I don't know...you seem more at ease. More comfortable."

Dean shrugs and they begin their daily procession toward the glass doors of the skyscraper. 

"So, does it have anything to do with the Mrs. Hottie in your bed Sunday morning?" Ruby asks with a smug smile. Becky sputters, her gloved hand clamping down on Dean's forearm and stopping the three of them to stop walking just before they enter the building.

"You slept with someone? With...a  _girl_?"

Dean frowns at her. "What?" 

"I mean..." Becky removes her hand and itches at her arm, a bright red blush creeping up her neck. Ruby creases her brow as she watches her odd reaction and folds her arms over her chest. "Are you not...you know... _gay_?"

The question shocks Dean and his eyes widen suspiciously fast. He's never put a name to his sexuality, but his sex record clearly represents that he swings both ways. However, he never realized it had been  _obvious_ that he likes dudes. Has he been checking anyone out without realizing? Has he been checking  _Cas_  out? 

"Why would you say that?" Ruby asks before Dean can, and Becky turns redder at the question. She mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like  _Castiel_. "Sorry, Rosen, you're gonna have to speak up a bit." 

Dean panics, not really  _knowing_ what Becky's talking about and knowing if she actually mentions  _Dean, gay, and Cas_  in the same sentence, Ruby would never let him hear the end of it- and not even in the funny, teasing way but in the " _What the fuck Winchester, you've chosen a really shitty person to waste your job on"_ way. He has yet to learn why Ruby and Cas have such harsh feelings toward one another, but he can practically hear the shit that Ruby's bound to give him.

"Hey, Dean!" A voice yells out before Becky has the chance to begin again, and Dean releases a breath he didn't realized he'd been holding. The three of them turn to see flashes of short red hair and curly brown hair as two girls run up to them. One of them- the girl who'd talked- is definitely Charlie but Dean doesn't recognize the other. She's pretty though, with almond-shaped eyes and full, red lips.

Once Ruby sees who'd called out, she frowns, mutters something akin to a  _see you later_ and shuffles off with Becky. Charlie and the girl skid to a halt in front of a surprised Dean and smiles widely.

"Dean, this is Cassie Robinson. She's one of the photographers at SPN. Cassie, this is Dean, a newer photographers." 

Dean and Cassie shake hands and Charlie looks strangely proud of herself for introducing the two of them. 

"So  _you're_ the guy that Lisa keeps going on and on about. I don't blame her, you seem like quite the charmer." Cassie grins, white teeth matching the snowy city around them, and Dean has to stop himself from frowning.  _Lisa_  as in the Lisa from Friday night? He can't believe that she's still interested, especially after he'd completely dodged her request for a date (and he seems to be very good at that, seeing as when Castiel asked if he'd wanted to go out on a date he completely shut it down). 

"All good things, then?" Dean asks with a faux smile, and he hopes he's better at faking than Cas had been.

"Definitely. Wait- one second." Cassie pulls out a phone from her bubble jacket's pocket and presses it to her ear. "Hello? Oh, hey Castiel." 

Dean freezes.

"Where the hell are you? Charlie and I...oh  _really?_ He is? Tell me, is he still with that Kali chick? I'm sorry, I'm  _sorry_. Oh, ha ha Cas. Very funny, what a colorful sense of humor."

Charlie glances at Dean as he watches Cassie talk animatedly on her phone. "They've been friends for a while," she explains. "Started freshman year of college, and their basic conversation starter was  _Oh yeah, we practically have the same name_!"

Dean hums at that just as Cassie hangs up the phone and they finally go  _inside_  of the building. "So that was  _Cas_ ," she begins, leading the trio to the elevators. "He gives his warm salutations to you both."

"Where the hell is he?" Charlie asks. 

"LaGuardia. Apparently, the day after Christmas, Gabriel jumped ship and hauled ass to California with his girlfriend."

Dean recognizes the name. "Gabriel, the Coney Island Candy Shoppe owner?"

Charlie and Cassie give him a look of mild surprise as they step into the elevator car. "Yeah, and the only brother Cas actually  _likes_  talking to," Charlie affirms. Cassie frowns.

"But Balthazar...?"

"That's debatable," Charlie replies. "So what—Gabe's back?" 

"Yeah and Cas is  _pissed_. He'll be in by noon, but he has to drive Gabriel and Kali to their place. And you know that Coney Island is literally on the other side of Brooklyn. He's already called Chuck about it."

"Poor kiddo," Charlie tuts. "The youngest of his brothers, but he still has to clean up after their mess. 

* * *

Dean is definitely out of it at work. He constantly glances at the analog clock across from his section of cubicles, a sinking feeling present in his gut. He's such an _idiot_ \- he can't imagine what Cas rightfully thinks of him at this point. You don't sleep with someone and _then_ tell him that it's not going to work out.

He gives it two weeks before he's fresh out of a job. Probably less.

If Ruby notices Dean's erratic behavior, she doesn't mention anything. She's actually doing _work_ today, drinking iced coffee (seriously, it's twenty degrees outside. If she wanted iced coffee, she could've just sat her cup somewhere for two minutes) as she goes through spreadsheets and long documents on her computer monitor.

By noon, Dean has finished everything assigned to him for the day by Chuck, giving him nothing to do and more time to tend for his own devices. He tries not to think about the hot, electrifying feel of Cas' skin against his own or how Cas' tongue tastes like peppermint and coffee or how fucking fantastic Saturday night had been and how it was definitely the best sex he's had in a very long time. He wants more; he'd be crazy not to, but he's already shrugged Castiel off in the interest of keeping his already-low position at the paper.

As soon as Dean's lunch break rolls around, Ruby stands and shrugs on the leather jacket that had hung on the back of her office chair. "Come on, Winchester, we're going to Shake Shack," she declares, leaning against the divider between their cubicles. "I'm paying. Becky's not coming for obvious reasons."

Dean rises and pulls on his own jacket. "Obvious?" He repeats as he follows her through the hallways to return to the lobby of the floor.

"Well, we all _know_ it. She's probably in the boss' office, legs spread really fucking wide."

Dean chokes on the air he'd been in the process of breathing, his eyes widening proportionately. " _Ruby_ ," he scolds and she just grins. For a brief moment, an image of Becky Rosen with her back on Chuck's wide desk and her skirt risen up flashes through Dean's mind and he nearly gags at the thought. He decides he'll leave Becky to do whatever the hell she wants as long as Dean's not involved. _  
_

The two of them reach the elevators and, before Ruby can reach over to press the metal-plated button, the doors slide open. For the second time in two minutes, Dean's breath catches in his throat but for a completely different reason. He and Ruby step back a little as Castiel and a man that Dean assumes to be Gabriel- a short, handsome man with whiskey-colored eyes, long-ish light brown hair, and a short beard steps out of the car. The man doesn't look a thing like Cas, though, not like Hannah did.

Dean doesn't realize that Cas is staring at him until moments afterward, making regretted contact with blue eyes that should be cold. But, the resulting shiver that runs up Dean's spine is from the utter warmth that he finds. Yes, there's a spark of sadness, but Dean chooses not to focus on that.

" _So look at what the cat dragged in_." Ruby's drawl drags Dean's gaze away from Cas' in order to observe the interaction occuring between her and Gabe. He looks tired and not particularly happy about running into her.

"Don't start, Ruby," Gabriel mutters, but Ruby doesn't seem to have any intention of letting up. Dean suddenly wonders if he's on the wrong side of things.

" _Why_ Gabriel? Mommy and Daddy running you off remind you too much of them doing the same to Luci?"

Cas steps forward then, and whatever warmth that he'd possessed is long gone. His eyes are icy and his mouth presses together into a thin, impatient line. "Don't you _dare,_ Ruby. Not here, not now, not _ever_." When Ruby doesn't reply and just stands there with a clenching jaw and nasty glare, Castiel turns to his brother. "Hannah will want to see you. I think she's on lunch, so she'd be in the break room." To Dean, he gives a small nod, refusing to look at him again. "Nice to see you again, Dean."

Even after Castiel and Gabriel leaves too quickly to recieve Dean's reply, he says, "You too, Castiel."

Ruby gives Dean a cold look and he just stares back. "What the fuck was that?" She demands, crossing her arms over her chest as they step into the elevator car. She violently hits the silver **1**. 

"What was what?" Dean asks warily.

"You're _my_ friend, aren't you? We don't associate with Castiel Novak. We _ignore_ Castiel Novak- don't pass go, don't collect two hundred."

Dean rolls his eyes at the Monopoly reference. "What _happened_ between you and the Novaks?"

He figures that, since she's also hostile toward Gabriel, it can't just be something between her and Cas. The elevator doors slide open and they walk through. Because it's lunch hour, a lot of people are already on the floor, chatting and drinking lattes. "Frankly, that's none of your business."

Dean is growing impatient with Ruby. He can _do_ snarky- living with his younger brother and being best friends with Jo Harvelle for his entire life, he's grown up with snarky. But Ruby is driving straight across the bitchy line and Dean doesn't like that at all. Here he had been, defending her in his mind and disliking the fact that Cas and Charlie had been so deliberately cold toward her while _she_ seems to be the one initiating the arguments.

He still has lunch with her.

* * *

Dean runs into Castiel a second time.

It's unexpected and nearing the end of Dean's work day. He decides to get up and go to the bathroom before taking the subway home and, on his way going in he sees Cas washing his hands.

No matter what Dean tries to convince himself, Cas is so unfairly gorgeous. It's _everything,_ from his smile to his laugh and his eyes to his soft black hair. Dean remembers running his fingers over Cas' sharp, squared hipbones and placing kisses down his collar to the beginning of his pelvis.

"I suppose you want to divide the floor in half: one side for me to keep to and the other for you?"

Dean clears his throat and moves further into the bathroom. "No, that's not necessary."

"Okay, I just don't want to...uh...make things awkward. Or hard. For you, of course." Cas turns off the pipe and dries his hands under the electrical dryer. Dean watches his every move, getting irritated as he takes in his calm, collected composure. All Dean's been getting from Cas is _hints_ that he cares, ambivalent deductions about the twinkle of his fucking _eyes._ How is that a reliable source of how someone feels? What does it even _mean_? Your eyes are meant for seeing, and Dean doesn't understand how it could possibly be considered as the doorway into someone's soul.

"Oh yes, just place the blame on me: it's all Dean Winchester's fault and his stupid want to keep his goddamned job that we didn't work." The words are firing out before Dean even knows what he's saying. He knows that it's stupid, but that sure as hell doesn't stop him.

Castiel's eyebrows knit together as he removes his hands from under the dryer. He chuckles nervously and without humor. "Dean, I would never-"

"And why are you being so goddamned _nice?_ Be angry! _I_ would be angry."

Cas pauses and assesses the situation. The two are standing at opposite side of the bathroom, but it feels likes two worlds between them. Dean knows that he's made- that he's _making_ it that way. "Are you angry?" Cas asks, his voice small and Dean runs a frustrated hand over his mouth. He not answering. So, Cas takes the silence to speak again. "Because I am. Not at you- I'd never be mad at you."

Castiel isn't moving from his position at the wall by the dryer, still respecting Dean's decision to cut it off in thought to his job. 

"Cas," Dean says softly, all previous inane anger rushing out of him.

"I'm angry that I've been craving your touch since you left Sunday morning- and yeah, I know, how fucking lame is _that?_ I've known you for all of seven days and I find myself wanting to kiss you _all the time._ I'm angry that I can't do that because that would putting yourjob especially on the line. And that would be selfish and that is so fucking _unfair_ because Chuck has been banging Becky Rosen for the _longest time_ yet the Board of Managers don't say anything about it."

"Then be _selfish_ , Cas. Just-"

The bathroom door swings open and Chuck walks through, thoroughly silencing Dean. Both he and Cas refuse to make eye contact as Chuck glances between the two of them.

"Is everything okay guys?"

Cas is the first to say something. "Yeah, I was just...you know...using the bathroom." He wordlessly shuffles past Chuck and Dean and through the door.

* * *

The next day begins exactly as the Monday before had. He awakes, however, to the text tone of his phone rather than the alarm. He rolls over to grab it from the bedside table and has to take a couple of moments to blink away the blindingly bright light.

 

_**Charlie: Don't bother going to the office today- meet Cas and I at the Metropolitan at 9**_  

 

Dean is confused for a second, not understanding what Charlie means, but then the realization strikes him  _hard._ He has a project with Charlie and Cas for the next couple of days, to examine and report the El Greco exhibit. He'd been so goddamned excited for it last week, having the opportunity to spend more time with Castiel Novak. But things have changed and being close to Cas as of recent hurts more than it feels good.

Dean gets up, takes a shower, throws on some clothes (a little more professional, due to the more prestigious environment of the Met), and makes his way into his kitchen. He's drowsy and his limbs feel sore, and he definitely doesn't want to face Cas. It seems like every time they have a conversation, things just sort of roll downhill and God knows that he can't take anymore of it.

He puts on his jacket, grabs his camera case from the kitchen bar, and makes his way out of the door. He debates whether or not he should take the subway to Fifth Avenue or call a cab. By time he's reached outside, he's decided he wants to take a taxi, so he stands on the curb and hails one down.

" _Wait!_ "

Dean wouldn't have thought that the exclamation is meant for him if the voice hadn't been so goddamned familiar. He turns slightly to see Castiel jogging toward him and  _Jesus Christ, why is he always around?_

Against his better judgement, Dean drops his hand and waits for Cas to catch up to him. Once he stops in front of him, Dean realizes that Cas is holding two paper cups of coffee in his hand. He's holding one out to him.

"So is this our thing now?" Dean asks dryly, taking the cup with a small smile of thanks. "You buy me coffee, I fail at hailing taxis?"

Cas snorts at that and runs a hand through his wind-blown hair. "I just want to apologize. You know, for how things are between us." He puts a hand out into the busy street and waves a couple of times. A taxi pulls up beside them moments later and Cas moves to open the door for Dean.

Dean enters the cab unquestioningly and waits until they're both in and Cas tells the driver that they're going to the Met to say, "You don't have to  _apologize,_ Cas. I was being stupid in the bathroom yesterday. I was being irrational, so _I_ should be apologizing.  _I'm_ sorry."

A smile lines Cas' lips as he takes a sip from his cup. "I actually like you, you know. If that means anything."

Dean's eyebrows knit together, not at all expecting the confession. "I, uh..."

"Just so you don't get the idea that I'm some kind of office sex predator. Or something," Cas quickly adds, his cheeks turning a violent shade of red. "I don't usually do this sort of thing."

Dean grins, wanting to tear through the awkwardness that Cas had built for himself. "What,  _conveniently_ standing outside of my apartment with an extra coffee?"

Cas laughs nervously. "There is a  _very_ good story behind that. I remembered where you lived from last Friday and I decided that I'll stand outside for five minutes before leaving. I wanted to see you but I didn't want to be extraordinarily creepy about it."

Dean wonders then why Castiel Novak has such a big interest in  _him_ out of all people. Sure, he knows that he's not terrible and he's some degree of attractive, but when he first moved to New York City, he'd never thought that some guy whose family lives in the Hamptons, who has an incredible apartment in Midtown with a record player, a vinyl collection that contains  _Led Zeppelin,_ anda sushi kit (because who in the hell owns _sushi kits_ ), who kisses like a God, and who looks like a fucking  _angel_ would be pining after  _him._

Cas is so beautiful and so kind and just  _fuck,_ Dean wants him so goddamned much.

* * *

"You guys are late," is the first thing that comes out of Charlie's mouth as she sees them approach from the curb. She's standing on top of the triple set of stairs that leads to the large museum, an iPad in her hand. As he and Cas nears, she hold the tablet out for Castiel to take.

"There was traffic," Cas says a matter-of-factly and taps his finger on the screen of the tablet. He looks up at Charlie curiously, probably wondering why he has it.

"I'm just the editor, remember? You do all of the note-taking."

Castiel rolls his eyes and Charlie just grins, turning toward Dean and bidding a kind, "Hello."

The exhibit is wonderful. Dean doesn't know a lot about El Greco besides what he'd learned when he went to college, but it was enjoyable all the same. Castiel seemed to know a great deal about the paintings and took time to direct Dean to the more important ones:  _View of Toledo, The Purification of the Temple, Concert of Angels._ Charlie left the group a couple of times to interview one of the exhibit directors (Castiel claimed that she only went over to the girl because she thought she was  _hot_. Charlie continuously and animatedly denied such a thing), leaving Castiel and Dean alone and Dean doesn't really know how he feels about that.

They leave the museum at seven. Dean's memory card is filled with snapshots of the exhibit and they're all pretty tired.

"We should go for dinner," Castiel suggests, his hands buried deep in his trench coat's pockets as the wind chill has risen since this morning. Charlie, who's trying to hail down a cab, shakes her head.

"Sorry bud, I can't. I promised Gilda I'd come over."

Dean doesn't know who Gilda is, but by the look that Castiel gives Charlie, he suspects she's something more than a friend. "So this cab is going all the way to Hell's Kitchen?" Cas asks.

"I can take a separate one-"

"No, no, it's fine. Just asking." A taxi comes rolling down the road, lights bright and blinding, and Cas smiles at her. "Just be careful. We don't need a repeat of last time."

They all pile into the backseat of the car, with Cas in the middle, and Charlie tells the driver their destination.

Dean is pressed way too tightly into Cas' side and the contact is making it hard for him to breathe properly. Cas and Charlie are engaged in conversation and Dean feels so  _crazy,_ trying not to gasp at the feel of their legs constantly brushing together and the way Castiel's hair tickles his neck every time they go over a bump in the road.

Charlie leaves sooner than later and Cas moves toward her side of the backseat, leaving Dean feeling cold and empty. He sighs and rests his forehead against the window as Cas tells the driver Dean's address.

"Your place is further than mine from Hell's Kitchen, but I've decided to pay the fare," Cas explains and Dean hums, watching the roadside go by as they drive down the street. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm cool."

"Are you sure? Oh- are you hungry? Because we can go grab dinner. There's this fantastic Indian restaurant in Lincoln Square."

"No, uh..." Dean moves to turn toward Cas and rubs the back of his neck. "There's a problem."

Cas searches his face for any indication of what he means. Finding none, he frowns and runs his hand over his mouth. "What is it?"

Dean doesn't know how to voice his feelings without sounding completely cliched and stupid, so he does the next best things. He slides over into the middle seat, takes Cas' face in his hands, and kisses him.

He's unsurprised to find that he desperately missed feeling Cas' lips working against his own, sedated and certain. Cas' hands grip the lapels of Dean's jacket in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer.

Cas pulls away first, his tongue running along Dean's bottom lip before he moves his head back to stare at the other man. "What was that?"

"I don't care anymore," Dean replies in a single breath and Cas' eyes squint a bit, illuminated by the streetlights.

"You should, it's your _job_ Dean. With me- I've got my writing to fall back on. I don't want you to hate me because I ruined your big photography dream." _  
_

Dean sighs. "I wouldn't  _hate_ you. I just..." He lets his forehead fall onto Cas chest, and is grateful when he doesn't move away. "I think about you too much. It's a little annoying, actually." Cas laughs, the motion making Dean's head bounce a little. Dean rises so he can look directly at him. "We'll be careful," he says softly, running his fingers along the thin beard Cas is growing out. "God, we'll be so careful baby."

"Dean..." Cas begins uncertainly and his eyes flutter shut as Dean's hand finds its way into his hair.

"Let me take you home," he says softly, and he's practically in Cas' lap, their legs intertwined in an awkward position that somehow feels completely comfortable. "We can make it work. I _want_ to make it work."

Dean moves forward again and Cas meets him halfway. The resulting kiss is more frantic than the others, sloppy and rugged but it's still absolutely perfect. After a while, they hear the driver clear his throat.

"We're here."

Cas' hair is a mess from where Dean had gripped into it, his face is flushed, and his lips, swollen. Dean pays the fare before Cas can object and they shuffle out of the car, Dean making sure not to forget his camera.

He wraps the strap around his neck as they join together on the sidewalk outside of Dean's building.

"Are you sure about this?" Cas says, still very dubious about troubling Dean. Dean just reaches down to lace their fingers together, bringing their interlocked hands between their chests.

"Of course."


End file.
